


Mise En Place

by i_love_tofu_so_much



Series: Mise En Place [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, also c plays soccer cause i wish we had some more fics where c plays soccer, if u read my first fic u know that i love food so this really shouldnt be a surprise haha, in light of tobin constantly talking about how she doesnt like cooking i made her a chef in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_love_tofu_so_much/pseuds/i_love_tofu_so_much
Summary: Mise En Place: a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place".
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: Mise En Place [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888039
Comments: 39
Kudos: 332





	Mise En Place

**Author's Note:**

> *in this universe, women's soccer is very well known and successful and players actually get payed fairly so they're all living like the queens they are

_“Cooking is at once child's play and adult joy. And cooking done with care is an act of love."_

_\- Craig Claiborne_

“No.”

“Christen, I-”

“When you asked me before I said no and my answer is still no!”

A blanket of silence levels the conversation for a moment as the two take a breath. Daniel, Christen’s manager, is the first to break the standstill with the fuming woman. “I know what you said, but it’s really too late to do anything now. She’s going to be here in an hour and you know it’d be rude to call it off so late.”

Christen scoffs at the card being played against her. She vehemently rejected this idea weeks ago and now that everything’s been put together behind her back, it really is too late to do anything about it. 

“If you meet her, go along with it for, say, a week, and you _still_ don’t want to go through with it? Then we’ll terminate her season contract with you.” Daniel calmly continues and Christen just shakes her head at the use of " we" when there’s going to be a complete stranger in _her_ house for most of the day. There are really no words she can say in response, considering she never really had a say in any of this from the beginning anyway. 

Daniel considers the silence as a victory - or more accurately, not a loss - but he takes it in stride nonetheless. With one last look at his client, who remains stoic and has yet to form any solid eye contact since the start of their little spat, Daniel takes it as a signal for him to leave while he still has a job. “One hour, Chris.” he reminds in the softest, most non-threatening tone possible. “Lemme know how it goes afterward, yeah?”

Christen, with her arms crossed and a stern expression, finally looks over at her manager. “Yeah, sure Dan.” she mutters out for the sake of getting this man to leave her house as soon as humanly possible. 

Daniel picks up on this unspoken command to leave and is out of the door seconds later. 

Finally alone, Christen remains leaned up against her kitchen countertop, letting out a breath of frustrated air as the familiar silence of the large building echoes in her ears. She looks around at the white walls glowing in the natural sunlight and the sharp corners of her furniture and the spotless surfaces that make her house feel less like a home and more like a newly remodeled institution of some sort. Of course, she hates the white, bland colored walls and the uncomfortable furniture and she’s never the one to actually clean the surfaces to spotless perfection. 

Perfection. 

It’s something she strives for in every aspect of life. In her sport - her career, in her image. In how she acts and talks and presents herself to everyone. Perfection is showing up to red carpets and putting in countless hours of interviews and media. It’s 100 shots every day on each foot and mastering a goal from every possible angle. It’s about being a supportive teammate and doing so through a rigorous work ethic so that when a crucial moment presents itself, she can execute with nothing short of _perfection_. 

So her modern style home - this house she happens to reside in - with its white walls and sharp corners and spotless surfaces, seemed like the most appropriate building for a woman of her status - a woman with her ambitious goals. Growing up and climbing the levels of soccer, she had always seen these well-known professional athletes showing off their newest Lamborghini or some unreleased pair of limited edition shoes. So when she reached that point in her career where she had the money to spend on these luxuries, there was a certain expectation to do so. It has its perks, of course. She finds herself enjoying her simple Gucci accessories and she's grateful for being able to fly comfortably to the many destinations where her presence is demanded. But most of it is all noise - just aspects of her life that never really align themselves with her true wants or desires. And her house, her shell of a home, is the perfect example of that. She'd honestly be fine living in a cozy little studio, but when the realtor had asked, “Isn’t the place perfect?”, well, how was she supposed to turn it down.

An abrupt knock on the door pulls Christen out of her thoughts and back to reality. She glances at the digital clock displayed on the stainless steel (unused) oven and is completely shocked to see that an hour had passed since Daniel left - an hour passed and now she has a meeting with no self-preparation because she had really been spacing out for a full sixty minutes. 

Christen straightens her spine, looks down at her outfit to remind herself of what she’s currently wearing, and decides that the comfortable yoga pants/sweater combination, while not ideal, will have to do. She rushes over to the front door and takes a minute to let out any anxieties before quickly planning a play by play in her head of how she expects this meeting to go. She expects an awkward greeting and a brief discussion with the stranger. She expects that she’ll have to be the one to take the lead, bringing the person into her house where they’ll sit awkwardly together before the conversation eventually runs its course, and then they’ll walk the same path towards the exit. She expects to really regret hiring Daniel as her manager. 

When she swings the door open, the person on the other side of the door extinguishes any and all expectations she had planned out seconds before. She doesn’t expect a stunning woman, about her age, waiting to be revealed. She doesn’t expect such a casual yet striking outfit consisting of a black hoodie and black jeans, dark leather Chelsea boots, all topped off with a forest green Jordan snapback. She doesn’t expect the blinding white smile that rivals the walls of her house and the welcoming sharpness of the woman’s high cheekbones and the spotless tan skin of her flawless face. 

“Hi,” Christen manages to breathe out after an almost embarrassing amount of time simply staring at the spectacle before her. 

“Hey,” she replies in a deep and calming voice that could put any insomniac to sleep. The woman swiftly brings her hand out between them for a professional handshake like any normal person would do, only Christen can’t seem to compute anything further than her one-word greeting. The stranger is a second away from removing her hand since the action seemed to not be reciprocated in the way it usually is, but Christen finally pulls away from her mind and rushes (a bit _too_ quickly) to grab and shake the fleeting hand. 

“Sorry,” Christen awkwardly chuckles, suddenly realizing that this woman in front of her can probably feel how clammy her anxiety-filled hand is now that they’re together. (Christen hadn't expected that _she_ would be the source of awkwardness during this meeting.)

The stranger simply chuckles back - a light but tender sound - before saying, “No worries.”

Despite how warm and soft but obviously skillful the hand she’s shaking is, Christen is able to pull her hand away after an appropriate amount of time has passed. While on this streak of normalcy after the initial derailing nature of their first greeting, she wordlessly opens the door a bit wider and offers an inviting gesture inside. 

“Thanks,” the woman says, her hands back in her pockets as she walks into the house. 

Christen leads them towards the large kitchen where they mutually decide to sit along the row of bar stools beside each other at the kitchen island (in a much closer proximity than Christen had expected). 

There’s a significant beat of silence before Christen goes ahead and takes the lead in conversation (as she had expected to do). 

“So, Tobin. I honestly haven’t been able to go through your profile as in-depth as I would’ve liked. I’ve just been busy, but I suppose that’s why we're meeting in the first place.” Christen starts with a slightly forced smile, which the woman beside her returns but in a much more relaxed way. Honestly, Christen hadn't done any research about who this stranger is because she didn't know until an hour ago that this meeting was even happening. 

“Well, being a professional athlete, I can only imagine how hectic your life is.” Tobin comments with that damn gorgeous grin. “I’m just here to make it all a bit easier to handle.” 

The words spoken are said so genuinely that it eases Christen in a very refreshing (and unexpected) way. In a world where she’s constantly trying to be persuaded into different teams and sponsorships and social circles, she finds the trait of honesty greatly appreciated in her life. 

“Thank you for that.” Christen says with a much more comfortable demeanor than before. She shifts her position on the stool towards the woman beside her, now feeling more open and willing to conduct this conversation. “Tell me about yourself. I’ve never had a personal chef before so I’m interested in your qualifications and your background. To be completely honest, you’re much younger than I would have expected.” 

Tobin chuckles again - a sound that brings butterflies to Christen’s stomach, though she simply accounts the feeling as her anxiousness. 

“That’s very kind.” Tobin begins. “So I’ve been cooking for as long as I can really remember. I always helped out my mom in the kitchen growing up and she taught me the basic skills any budding chef really needs. I instantly fell in love with cooking and food and everything it brings with it.”

“I got a job in the kitchen as soon as I possibly could, which, at my age, probably wasn’t the most legal situation. But I worked at a local burger joint in town, behind the grill, makin smash burgers and greasy fries for kids that were my age." she smiles as the memories play in her head and it's almost like Christen is there watching these memories too with how passionately she speaks. "I decided to take the risk and try to get myself into one of those big, fancy restaurants after high school and so I moved from Jersey to here in Los Angeles and started worming my way into any place that I could. Luckily, for some reason, La Fureur opened their doors.” Tobin pauses with a wide smile when she sees that Christen’s jaw had literally dropped. 

“Wait.” Christen mutters with disbelief. “La Fureur?” She had only heard stories about the prestigious, double Michelin star, french restaurant with its unbelievable waitlist and equally incredible cuisine. Christen had planned on trying to get in, even if it meant flashing her status a bit for at least one meal, but she hasn’t had time to dedicate the full effort needed to try and get a seat. The fact that this baby-faced chef actually worked there at the beginning of her culinary career is qualification enough.

Tobin nods without an ounce of arrogance, only warmth and kindness as she continues down memory lane. “Well, I obviously had to start at the bottom. I was basically just washing dishes and stuff.” she continues to explain. “But in time, I was able to work my way up the ranks and learn more about cooking and the operations of a fast-moving restaurant.”

“Wait.” Christen says again, too intrigued to feel embarrassed for being so obviously star-struck. “Did you become the head chef at La Fureur?”

To this, Tobin just chuckles again, shaking her head. “No, no. I never got there. I don't think I'd ever want such a scrutinizing position like that.”

Christen nods silently, hoping that her excited words didn’t accidentally make the woman think about any possible negative recollections, but by the way Tobin’s gleaming smile remains on her face, she guesses that it didn’t.

“No, but I did eventually become Andrew’s sous-chef. Andrew was the head chef at the time and he played a super big role in honing my skills in the kitchen and working in such a professional environment.” Tobin explains. 

At this point, Christen is on the edge of her seat listening to Tobin speak. Did she expect to be so enraptured by this conversation when Daniel informed her about this meeting? Of course not. But here she is, hanging onto every word being spoken by this unquestionably captivating woman. 

“So what happened?” Christen asks like a little kid listening to a new bedtime story (and she definitely feels like a little kid listening to a new bedtime story).

Tobin’s eyes shift down a bit, a sudden downcast look shadowing her face. “One bad review is what happened.” she answers simply and Christen, not even having known this woman for an hour, feels her heartbreak at the obviously somber tone of voice. “Andrew was easily fired after that and I made the choice to leave as well. I mean, if they thought of their head chef, this total food genius that did so much for La Fureur’s reputation, as so indispensable, then I knew it wasn’t the place for me in the long-run. Especially without Andrew there.”

“Oh no.” is all Christen can mutter out before asking, “What’d you do then?”

“I moved to France.” Tobin states in another simple way, but with a much chipper tone than before. “Andrew was a huge help in finding me another job overseas and I was able to live and cook there for a year.”

Christen is completely bewildered by this. The woman before her worked her way up the ranks at one of the most infamous Los Angeles restaurants, only to leave and work in one, if not the most infamous food cities in the world. Tobin’s life made Christen’s seem minuscule in comparison.

“What'd you do there? Where did you work?” 

“Well, I took a couple classes and I had a few options in terms of restaurant jobs and cooking opportunities. Ya’know, those fancy, elite restaurants that I had dreamed of working at as a kid. But surprisingly I wound up taking a bit of a different route.” Tobin says with a grin and glimmer in her eye. “I like constantly expanding my horizons and I was able to become the head chef for a nutrition company that specifically worked with the fitness of professional athletes.” 

Christen hums in response, now seeing how Tobin’s life and experiences have led her to where she is. 

“It was interesting going from such a strict, kitchen setting to a much more relaxed sort of company. But it gave me a lot of freedom in how and what I cook and it was really cool getting to meet all of these pro athletes, like yourself.” Tobin says and Christen really hopes the blush she feels rising to her cheeks isn’t as noticeable as she thinks it might be. “Then after traveling around and learning more about different types of cuisine from different places, I came back to the states but stayed in that same sort of field. And, uh, here we are.”

Before Christen can continue leading the conversation, Tobin suddenly takes complete control. “But enough about me.” she says as she adjusts her seat to see Christen more face to face. “I’ve honestly already done preliminary research on you and I’ve spoken with your team’s nutritionist, your manager, and your doctor.”

“Oh,” Christen says, not really knowing how to respond. “Um, alright.”

“Your doc brought up that you’ve recently had knee surgery?” Tobin asks and doesn’t miss the slight grimace that appears on Christen’s face.

With a sigh, Christen responds, “Yeah. It's not _that_ recent, but it's something I always have to keep an eye on. Daniel really wants me to focus on the more technical aspects of soccer with more crucial games coming up. I suppose that means having someone come in and cook all my food for me.” She initially feels bad for how snarky she sounds, but she really didn’t want a personal chef in the first place - that’s why she shot down the idea when it was proposed weeks ago. She already went through months of feeling helpless and weak from the sessions of rehab after her surgery, the last thing she wants is to be even more babied and have someone take over the basic, human task of preparing food. 

Tobin either doesn’t mind or doesn't notice her sharp tone as she continues on. “Well, I’m sorry that happened to you. Injuries are rough, especially in your line of work. But if it means anything, the doc says you’re basically back to 100% at this point.” Christen just offers a small smile, not because of the words said, but simply for the fact that Tobin had said them. 

"With that past injury in mind, I think our goals for the season are to just get you stronger, speed up recovery, and keep your energy levels high." Tobin says and Christen nods dumbly because those all sound like pretty good things she wants. 

“So because you mentioned that you’ve never done this before, I’ll just explain how we usually operate.” Tobin states, clearly not afraid to take control when Christen had expected to be the one dictating the conversation. “So I’m going to be here three times a day, in the morning, the afternoon, and at night. I’m not going to be cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner at those specific times, but I’ll either be meal prepping or making extra snacks or just hanging around to be at your disposal if you get hungry and want me to whip something up.” 

“In regards to meal prepping, I believe food is best when it's served fresh, so I’m really only gonna be meal prepping when I know that you won’t be home to eat it hot off the stove. I have your schedule so if you’re out training or going somewhere, it’ll be in the fridge in a marked tupperware container. When it comes to snacks, those will be in the fridge or the pantry as well because most of the time it’ll be food that doesn't need to be eaten right away - like granola bars or smoothies.”

Christen can only nod silently as Tobin continues. “I know that sometimes you’ll probably want to go out with your friends or something, so just text me that you’ll be skipping a meal and I’ll pack it up for a later day. Daniel should’ve given you my number.”

“Do I need to get groceries for you or buy any specific cookware?” Christen asks because she really didn’t read anything Daniel had possibly sent her about this whole thing.

Tobin shakes her head. “Nope, everything’s covered between your people and my people. All you gotta do is show up.” She finishes her talk with that same wholesome smile. 

Christen is left speechless. While she didn’t expect the whole thing to be a super complicated ordeal, she also didn’t expect it to be so seemingly perfect and easy. Now that the power roles of the conversation have been completely switched, all Christen can say is, “That’s it?”, to which Tobin simply nods. 

“Well, I should probably get going…” Tobin checks the watch on her wrist and suddenly stands up, signifying the end of the conversation. _Wow I’m really just following along now…_ Christen thinks to herself as she literally follows Tobin through her own house back to the door. 

She manages to still get there first, hastily opening the door for her guest that, by tomorrow, won’t really be a guest when she’s occupying the house almost as much as Christen is. 

Before Tobin walks out, she says, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Christen. I’m sorry I have to run outta here so quickly but I wanna get some grocery shopping done before tomorrow morning.”

Those last two words seem to hit Christen right in the gut when she realizes that this whole thing is really actually starting tomorrow - that she’s going to have a personal chef in her house three times a day cooking meals and snacks for her. And it’s all starting tomorrow morning. 

“Uh, yeah. See ya tomorrow.” Christen sputters out, trying to hide the obvious revelation she’s just had. 

“Bright and early.” Tobin says with a wink before turning and heading out the door. 

All Christen can do is stare from her doorway at the total swagger of the woman walking away from her house. With all expectations already thrown out the window the minute the two made eye contact, she has absolutely no idea what to expect tomorrow morning.

~~~

When Christen wakes up the next day, the memories of the charming chef feel like a fever dream. She almost completely forgets about it. In fact, she _does_ forget about the entire arrangement when she sleepily walks down her staircase on autopilot to make herself some coffee, only to be met with the shining presence of someone else in the usually lonesome kitchen. 

"Morning!" Tobin cheerily announces.

Christen is startled out of her sleepy haze until everything comes flooding back into her hazy brain. 

Personal chef. Three times a day. Meal prepping. Bright and early.

Bright and early indeed.

"Oh, um. Good morning." Christen replies and she becomes very aware of the fact that Tobin is fully dressed and she is still in her small, pink sleep shorts and a large t-shirt. 

Christen also becomes very aware of Tobin, specifically the little details that she hadn't seen or expected from the day before. She still has that green snapback, but the black hoodie from before had been hiding the woman's long, lean arms - arms that are now fully exposed with the white t-shirt that makes her skin look even tanner. On those smooth looking arms are some illustrations in ink - tattoos of what appears to be a knife on her left forearm and a colorful looking combination of images that form a half-sleeve on her other arm. To make matters worse, Tobin is currently unloading produce from the abundance of tote bags scattered on the countertops and the lifting and moving of heavy produce show their weight as the muscles of her arms move beneath that smooth, tan, inked skin.

Christen has to look away before she starts drooling, especially because there isn't any food prepared to be drooling over yet. 

She starts to make her way to her trusted coffee machine but suddenly a glass of green liquid is slid towards her instead. She looks up at Tobin with a questioning expression. 

"Morning juice." Tobin simply states.

Christen holds the ominous-looking beverage up, inspecting it from its clear glass as if she'd be able to tell what's in it by its looks alone. Tobin seems to read her thoughts as she lists off its contents. "Apple, celery, cucumber, apple cider vinegar, spinach, ginger, and lemon."

When Christen crinkles her nose, specifically at the apple cider vinegar part, Tobin just chuckles lightly, her pearly whites practically glowing in the morning sun. 

"It's good for digestion, gut health, and blood sugar balance." Tobin explains. "And you should probably get used to it cause you're gonna be drinkin something like this every day."

Christen continues eyeing the liquid before she lets out a breath of confidence, opens her mouth, and it’s down the hatch. Her eyes squeeze in distaste throughout the whole experience, but she manages to get every drop down, ignoring the part of her brain telling her that whatever she's ingesting could possibly be poison and that she should stop while she still can. With the glass empty and a proud smile (trying to hide a grimace from the disgusting taste that lingers in her mouth), Christen looks back over to Tobin, who simply smiles back in approval.

"Because you just have some light physical therapy soon, that's all you're gonna have this morning. But it's really all you need anyway." Tobin states, now folding up the bags since she's done packing all the food away.

"Really?" Christen replies with a borderline whiny voice. 

"Really." Tobin confirms. "Our bodies can function on a lot less than we usually think and we wanna keep mornings lighter so that we can pack a lot of nutrients in closer to your hard training sessions. If you have earlier workouts, we'll adjust."

Christen frowns as she plops her body onto a kitchen island stool, but she knows she has to accept this new nutrition plan sooner rather than later - for sanity’s sake. "Coffee?" she asks, hoping that such a luxury hasn't been taken as well.

Tobin smiles back before pulling down a mug and pouring her some already made coffee. It seems as though Tobin's already made herself very acquainted with the ins and outs of Christen's kitchen, probably more than Christen herself. 

She slides the steaming drink over to Christen who happily accepts it like it's the first gift on Christmas morning. 

"Hmmm" she hums in delight, eyes closed at feeling the warm coffee flowing down her throat - a stark contrast to the juice she had to guzzle down moments ago. When Christen opens her eyes, she sees that Tobin is looking at her with a soft smile as she leans casually against the opposite kitchen counter. 

"We’d never deprive someone of the sweet life force that is coffee." Tobin says, pouring herself some coffee as well. Now that they're both not occupied with a task of some sort, they kind of remain together in this space in the kitchen. Surprisingly it's not awkward as much as it's just unfamiliar. 

Christen has a nagging desire to get to know her new personal chef a bit more, but she suppressed her questions with the intent of keeping things as minimal and, thus, professional as possible. After a moment, Christen stands from her seat, mug in hand, and excuses herself. "Well I should get ready for PT." she says. "Thanks for the hell-juice and the coffee, Tobin."

Tobin laughs before responding, "Of course. I'll be here after your session to make lunch. Good luck at PT!" 

Christen just smiles once more and then she promptly scurries back up to her bedroom to finish her coffee and get dressed and plan out her goals for the physical therapy session and think a lot about Tobin.

~~~

While the morning's physical therapy session was definitely more grueling than most, Christen actually feels remarkably fresh. Fresh and energetic. Like she could power the world purely off of the energy she feels coursing through her body. 

_Maybe Tobin does know what she’s talking about_ Christen thinks to herself, not because she didn’t trust Tobin’s methods but she was more than a little bummed this morning when she found out that her usual, hardy breakfast meal will now be replaced by a foul-tasting juice. 

As she walks into the house, Christen is immediately hit with warmth and the fragrant smells of spices and herbs. It’s a pleasant change from the usual smell of nothingness that exudes from her large house. When she closes the front door and rounds the corner, she’s met with Tobin standing in the same place as this morning, but this time she’s wearing a black apron with leather straps over her white shirt. The woman’s flowing hair is now thrown up into a half bun/half ponytail with a pen sticking up from behind her ear. She seems to be chopping something with a cleaver-looking knife and when Christen walks into the kitchen, Tobin looks up with a wide smile - her hands still moving effortlessly through the cutting motions. 

“Hey! How was your PT sesh?” Tobin asks as she finishes chopping and uses the wide blade of the knife to transfer the pieces into a large bowl. 

“Good. Really good actually.” Christen admits. She takes a seat at the kitchen island just as Tobin slides over a glass of water. When Christen looks back up, Tobin is already onto some other task without a word. “Thank you.” Christen says as she takes a few refreshing gulps. 

Tobin smiles in response and she continues to glide around the kitchen, tending to different chores. One moment she’s cutting, the next she’s over at the stove-top frying something, then she’s right back chopping something else. Christen’s mesmerized as she watches the woman moving around the kitchen space like an intricate dance. It’s astonishingly graceful - how Tobin is so in control of so many different things that are all collectively releasing a mouthwatering aroma. 

In the blink of an eye, Tobin suddenly slides two bowls of food in front of Christen and then refills her water glass. This effectively snaps Christen out of her thoughts as she looks back up to Tobin’s awaiting eyes. 

“I heard that you err on the side of a more plant-based diet, which is awesome to hear. I try to get all my clients to make that sorta shift, so I’m glad that won’t be a huge issue.” Tobin says and begins cleaning up the different pans and bowls she used. While putting some items away, she continues, “That right there is quinoa and sauteed tempeh. And obviously, you got your lil side salad in the smaller bowl.” 

Christen looks down at the dishes while definitely rethinking her initial doubts and refusal of this whole "personal chef" idea. The tempeh looks fantastically prepared with different spices and the smell of the meal itself simultaneously satisfies Christen’s hunger while also making her hungrier to get the food in her stomach. 

“Make sure you hydrate throughout the day.” Tobin reminds with a slight smirk like she can totally tell that the meal has Christen’s mouth watering. “And there’s a protein shake in the fridge for you to grab on your way out to training.” 

“Wow, thank you.” Christen says and she doesn’t waste another second before diving into the meal. The flavors burst in her mouth. A straight-up moan almost wracks through her whole body, but she’s able to hold it back so as to not embarrass herself completely. Christen never expected a seemingly simple meal to taste like this, but the word that pops into her head when she bites down on the tempeh is “orgasmic”. She obviously doesn’t say that out loud. What she does say through a mouthful of food is, “Tobin, this is truly amazing.”

Tobin, now leaned back casually against the counter, just smiles and bows her head bit. “Thank you very much.” she replies selflessly and she doesn’t get a response as Christen continues to shovel food into her mouth, as if she’d been starving for years before. In seeing this, Tobin’s smile only grows wider. “Slow down there, champ. Don’t want you suffocating on the first day.” she jokes but Christen does in fact slow down with a sheepish smile. 

“So I know yesterday that I said all you gotta do is show up,” Tobin begins to say as she slides an open, pocket-sized notebook and the pen from behind her ear over to Christen. “But there’s a little homework for you.”

Christen, unable to say anything because her mouth is still full of food, quirks her eyebrow in response. 

“I wanna make sure I’m making food that you enjoy. This meal is kinda my go-to with new clients cause it always turns out to be a fan favorite. But it’d be super helpful in meal planning and shopping to know what your favorite foods and ingredients are.” 

At this point, Christen has chewed and swallowed her massive bite and is able to joke, “Huh. Well I can tell you right now that I’m resisting the urge to just write down ‘chocolate’.” 

They both laugh and Tobin replies with a big grin, “By all means, go ahead. I'm sure we’ll figure out a way for you to get your chocolate fix.”

Christen gleams back and she starts to quickly write down all of her favorite foods while simultaneously eating her meal. When the list is done, she completely empties the contents of both bowls, chugs her glass of water, says a "see ya later" to Tobin, and grabs the protein shake to head out to field training with the team. 

When she comes back afterward, all sweaty and exhausted and sore, Tobin is right there in the kitchen to serve up some amazing roasted veggie tacos and rice. And if that didn’t make Christen’s stomach warm and full, Tobin casually slid over a slice of chocolate cake with that same little smile. 

“So how does this fit into my ultra-healthy meal plan.” Christen had asked before forking a piece into her mouth. She definitely was not complaining, but chocolate cake doesn't seem like it has a spot in a professional athlete’s life. 

“Your ‘ultra-healthy meal plan’ ensures that your _mental_ health is also in tip-top shape.” Tobin had explained. “I wanna make sure you’re staying healthy _and_ happy.”

The use of “I” instead of “we” didn’t go unnoticed by Christen, but she brushed it off as the only thing that filled her mind was the richness of the chocolate against her taste buds.

Tobin added, "Plus, it's homemade, not store-bought, so it's got like chocolate protein powder instead of cocoa powder and stuff like that. I made sure it fits in the diet, dontcha worry." She gave a little wink before turning around and unloading the dishwasher.

And the wide smile that grew with each bite of that cake slice led Christen to conclude that maybe having a personal chef - a hot personal chef if she’s being honest - could be the perfect addition to her life. 

~~~

Within a few weeks, Christen decides that having a personal chef is definitely the best luxury she’s ever had. 

She never realized before how much of her life was spent thinking, planning, and/or preparing her meals. But with all of those hours now directed to other aspects of her life, she feels like she’s living the dream. Now, she can focus entirely on perfecting her football skills and she gets to come back to a house that constantly smells like fresh, homemade dinner - probably because her meals are all fresh and homemade. 

Tobin’s presence has somehow brought a spark to Christen’s life that, in all honesty, she didn’t realize she was missing. Sure the life of a professional athlete - a very popular, successful athlete - is always hectic and wild in its own way. Her life definitely keeps Christen on her toes with talk shows and traveling and tournaments and award ceremonies. Of course, she values the practice of staying grounded and, as challenging as it is, slowing down her mind to stay present in the moment. It's why meditation has such a cemented role in her routine and in her life. But at the same time, Christen accepts that this fast-paced way of life is something she personally chose to pursue - that, while crazy and constantly moving at a million miles an hour, this way of life in and of itself is the _perfect_ life for someone in her position - for a professional athlete. 

But perhaps this is why Christen’s house never really felt like a home, because of this constant demand to always be doing and, more importantly, _perfecting_ something to the point of never really _living_ in her house. Perhaps it's why she's somehow felt so distant from the world even though her life depends on being thrown in the thick of it all.

Tobin has brought that piece she was missing - whatever aspect or key that makes those four walls into a cozy place of peace and sanctuary and makes life, even _her_ life, slow down in a way meditation never has. And Tobin does so along with serving some of the most fantastic meals that Christen has ever eaten. 

It’s not like Christen doesn’t know how to cook. She was probably the only roommate in her dorm hall and in her senior year apartment that even knew how to scramble an egg. Christen learned the basics of cooking from her mother just as Tobin had but that food knowledge only really showed itself with late-night cravings or quick snacks. 

As Christen climbed the levels from ODP, to club soccer, to youth national teams, and finally professional and national-level soccer, she slowly witnessed the variety of foods available to her shrink in numbers. This didn't come directly from the different nutritionists on these higher levels of pro sports, but more so from the culture that surrounds food and health and fitness in America. By living in the environment of what is considered "good" or "bad", Christen found food and especially cooking to be extremely daunting simply due to the fact that there seemed to be an endless list of restrictions. 

This is why she typically chose to order food as opposed to make something for herself, but even that task sometimes proved to be overly strenuous and stressful. If she wanted to try a new restaurant and she looked through the menu, the only thoughts that ran through her mind were: "Make sure there's a limited amount of fat." and "Which meal has the most amount of protein?" and "Maybe if I ask for no rice, it'll be healthier." In the process of perfecting her sport and her career and her life, Christen's relationship with food shifted from being a source of warmth and memories and comfort, to simply a source of fuel. End of story.

But not having to think of any of that, not having those anxiety-causing debates in her head, and instead, trusting someone else to take that weight off her shoulders, is an absolute dream. Having a personal chef planning and cooking all of her meals and snacks is definitely a luxury and normally she'd shy away from such extravagance, but in her life, where she usually feels like she's getting pulled from all directions and where she's expected to regard that feeling as "normal", she has to admit that removing the time and energy it takes to make food feels incredibly freeing.

So she gets three expertly made meals each day alongside some nutritious and delicious snacks, all thanks to one passionate (and cute) chef. But Tobin brings so much more than the simple necessary supply of sustenance. 

Through her food, she brings warmth to Christen's life that is unparalleled. It's a warmth that radiates from the kitchen and completely fills Christen's previously cold, empty house. It's warmth in Christen's heart when she quickly finds out that Tobin owns a plethora of different aprons and she always wears a different one every day. It's warmth in Christen's stomach as she begins to fall in love with food again. No longer is she speedily grabbing a protein bar on the way out the door or not even paying attention to the weakly-boiled vegetables for dinner while she actually focuses on answering emails. When she wakes up or comes back to the house - to her home - she's actually excited to see what's been made and to see the warm-hearted chef that now occupies her kitchen. And sure, they don't talk too often - don't really get the chance to with Christen running off (sometimes literally running) to different obligations and Tobin only being in the kitchen at three specific times in the day. But they're around each other enough that Christen would personally feel confident in calling Tobin her friend.

But Tobin brought this friendship and this warmth to Christen's life. And while she never fails to say the words "thank you" after being served whatever meal has been made for her, she doesn't quite think that Tobin fully understands the weight behind what Christen's thanking her for.

~~~

Christen doesn’t eat every meal prepared by Tobin. Just as she was told to do on nights like tonight, where her team has just advanced to the semifinals for the first time in club history, she texts Tobin to let her know that she’ll be out celebrating with her team. While skipping meals doesn’t maintain the same freshness that they usually offer, Christen has happily found that they taste _almost_ as delicious heated up after a night in the fridge. 

After getting talked into having a few too many celebratory margaritas (secretly ordered due to their somewhat flexible no alcohol policy) and a confusing excursion of finding an uber to ride back to her house, Christen walks through her door earlier than expected and tipsier than anticipated. She’s not rip-roaring drunk or anything (the team’s happy about moving to the semis but they all know that tomorrow, their full focus is on becoming league champions). But she’s definitely a bit of a lightweight and she's currently sporting a heavy haze of giggles and languid movements. The only thing on her mind at the moment as she haphazardly kicks off her heels is whatever dinner she knows Tobin has left packaged up from tonight in the fridge. 

When she stumbles around the corner, her heart almost flies out of her head when she sees a figure sitting at the kitchen island under the dimmed LED lights. A gasp must have come out of her throat (she really can’t be held responsible for anything her body does at this point) because Tobin’s head whips over to her.

“Oh. Hey Christen. I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.” Tobin says but all Christen can focus on is the large framed glasses set on the woman’s nose and the cozy-looking blue beanie on top of her head and how cuddly and soft she looks and-

“Chris?”

Christen springs back to reality and finally replies, “Y-yeah. Uhhh, me too.” She realizes that her response doesn’t really make complete sense, but she can’t be too bothered because-

 _“Chris”, that’s new..._

After a moment of awkwardly standing there in silence, Christen mutters out, "Whater ya doin here?".

"Just writing some meal ideas and an ingredients list, doin some research." Tobin explains and Christen's molasses-brain finally processes the laptop, leather notebook, and pen on the counter.

“I’m guessing you had a good night of celebrating?” Tobin chuckles, shutting the laptop and sticking the pen securely underneath the side of her beanie. 

As Christen continues to slowly make her way further into the kitchen - further to her planned destination of the fridge - she simply hums a yes with a wide, goofy smile. Tobin lightly laughs at the scene in front of her and she watches Christen grab a hold of the fridge handle. The entire scene gets ten times funnier as Christen’s alcohol-infused body can’t seem to muster the strength to actually pull the door open, so she’s left grunting and, apparently, pulling as hard as she possibly can, but it seems as though the door is cemented shut. 

“Whatcha doin?” Tobin asks with a humorous smile, though Christen does not at all see the humor in the pesky fridge door that won’t budge and let her get her hands on some food. 

“I just wanna get to the food in the tupperware dinner that you had made.” Christen says in a jumble of words that almost make a coherent sentence. 

With another laugh, Tobin gets up from her seat and walks over to the struggling woman. She places her hands on Christen’s own to pull them away from the fridge. The touch - the contrast of Tobin’s warm hands against Christen’s still frosty skin from her night out - sends a wave of goosebumps down Christen’s spine. Tobin moves her hands onto Christen’s shoulders to guide the woman to where she had been sitting at the kitchen island. 

A pout sets heavily on Christen’s face at the detour and Tobin explains in a soft voice, “I didn’t wind up making any dinner because I thought you were going to be out for a lot longer and I don't have very many fresh ingredients cause I’m gonna do a grocery store run tomorrow.”

“I bet you’d be good at running.” is all Christen’s drunk brain got from Tobin’s explanation. “You got the legs for it. Muscle-y and toned and athletic…”

Tobin smiles at the obviously intoxicated response, but she can’t help the blush that makes its way onto her face. 

That’s another thing that’s slowly developed in the weeks of seeing each other every day. They don’t get to talk much, but the few words they exchange never fail to toe the line of flirtatious. And while their own personal schedules result in the two spending a fairly restrictive amount of time with one another, it always seems as though one of them (or even both), leave their interactions with a blush and a tingling feeling in their bodies. 

But they have to remain professional. It has to be that way. Tobin is Christen's personal chef and Christen is Tobin's client. That's it and that's all it can be.

“Well since you’re here, I’ll go ahead and whip something up. Should help with the wicked hangover you’ll have tomorrow.” she says as she turns to easily open up the fridge and Christen then notices that Tobin’s still wearing the black striped apron she had on this morning.

Christen groans at the reminder of the inevitable hangover she'll have, already dreading the unfamiliar symptoms of a night out with the team that she'd forgotten about in the midst of celebrating. Then, her mood does a complete 360 when she suddenly seems to remember that Tobin’s her personal chef and that she's here to literally cook for her. “Y’know what I’d literally die for to be inside my tummy right now?” she slowly staggers out. 

“What’s that?”

With a pause and a deep, serious breath, as if she can already taste whatever food she's imagining at the moment, Christen answers with a pleading sort of sigh, “Kraft mac and cheese.”

To this, Tobin looks off in deep thought, eyebrows pinched, and she tries to quickly think of a way to integrate that into the diet that’s been planned out for Christen. 

Christen’s quick to add, “I know, I know, I know it’s not on the healthy, 'get better, train faster' food plan ‘nd I probs don’t even have it in the cupboard but I-”

“I’ll make it work.” Tobin interrupts with an assured smile and she grabs her pen to write something in her small notebook before quickly turning around to start her cooking process. She doesn’t see the huge, affectionate smile on Christen’s face. 

Christen can’t even pay attention to whatever prep is happening on the cutting board because all of her focus is on the way Tobin’s eyes heavily watch the tasks she’s doing. And the way she tucked her pen underneath her beanie in front of her ear before cooking so that it's grab-able and at the ready. And how her arms-

Christen has to look away in hopes of stopping these thoughts from forming about her personal chef. She looks down at the pocketable leather notebook left open in front of her where she’d seen Tobin write something down and it prompts her to ask, “Why you always have this...um... tiny thing of papers.” She slightly curses herself for her alcohol-addled brain that seems to have a very limited vocabulary. 

It doesn't seem to deter Tobin from responding with a smile as she turns around from the stove and says, “That’s just my notebook. It’s small so I can just carry it around whenever I need to write something down.” She sees how Christen’s not-so-subtly eyeing the notebook with a curious look and she adds, “You can go ahead and skim through it if ya want.”

Crossing with the light, Christen takes the notebook in her hands to inspect the various scribbles written down. The dark, walnut-colored leather is worn, showing how it must have been put through many years of rough use, and the way the whole notebook slightly curves is evident that it spends a lot of time in Tobin’s back pocket. 

While most of the page that’s open right now looks like it's covered in literal chicken scratch and is completely unintelligible to the human eye (especially an eye that's been looking down at the bottom of margarita glasses for the past couple of hours), Christen is able to make out a few words like “eggplant” and “protein: chocolate = yes, vanilla = maybe, cookies and cream?” as well as some various numbers like the day's date and a cute little smiley face drawn in the corner. Christen decides to not delve into the notebook’s entire contents with respect to Tobin's privacy even though it's very much what she wants to do. 

“Cookies and cream protein sounds reeeally good.” she says before closing the leather, slightly-warped notebook and sliding it a few inches away from her uncontrollably curious hands. 

“Good to know.” Tobin laughs as she continues stirring whatever is in the large pot on the stove. 

Apparently, a tipsy Christen is a talkative Christen because she additionally comments, “Ya’know it’s like super convenient that phones have like a notes app. Quick typey type, non-per… non-perishhh…” Her mouth seems to betray her brain and it makes Tobin let out another laugh. “Won’t burn in a fire.” Christen finally settles on before crossing her arms against the countertop and resting her head on them because talking is now a very exhausting effort. 

“Well call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to actually write stuff down. Pen to paper. It helps me remember things better and I only really use my phone to talk to clients and stuff.” Tobin explains.

Christen’s slightly intoxicated brain somehow finds that little quirk incredibly sexy. _So much for getting those thoughts out of my head…_

She changes the subject again as she pops her head back up and looks down at the cutting board in front of her. “Why you always use that big, scary knife?” From day one, Christen has only seen Tobin use this one, large cleaver while she cooks. Whether she's forcibly chopping up a watermelon or delicately coring strawberries or mincing garlic, Tobin has only ever used this one, very well-maintained knife. 

Tobin places a lid on the pot, does some funny-looking flipping with something in a saucepan, and turns down the dial on the stove before facing the slightly incoherent woman. She leans her forearms against the countertop, mirroring Christen's position with an amused expression. 

“Well aren’t you just a chatty Cathy tonight, huh?” she quips with a teasing smile. 

Christen wants to jab something back, but Tobin’s words shine a light on the fact that this is probably the most they’ve talked to each other in one conversation during the weeks that they’ve been in each other’s lives (or more accurately, Tobin in Christen’s life). With this in mind, she simply shrugs and waits for an answer. 

Tobin casually picks up the shiny kitchen tool and Christen has to fight the instinctive reaction of flinching away. She’s never been a big fan of sharp, potentially dangerous objects. Tobin gives the knife a quick sweep against her apron to wipe off any imperfections. “It’s called a Chinese cleaver or a caidao.” she informs while looking at the knife’s polished shine. “It’s in a cleaver shape but it’s not _really_ meant for cutting meat. It’s kinda just a versatile type of knife for most kitchen tasks and it's the only one I really need.”

“Huh...” Christen mutters because her brain only processed about half of Tobin’s words and she can’t come up with a very articulate response. At this point, the only thing Christen can think of are all of the questions that have been bottling up inside of her mind - questions that she’s bitten her tongue to not ask - but she’s feeling tipsy and unrestrained at the moment. So she continues her questioning spree cause why not just cover as many of her questions as she can. 

“Whater your tats?” is the next question that pops into her head to ask. 

Luckily Tobin doesn’t seem to mind these sporadic and very unexpected questions. She puts down the knife and holds up her left forearm. “This one’s my first. It’s justa western chef’s knife but I got it after I left La Fureur to kinda commemorate my time there.” Christen looks at the open display of the tattoo against her tan skin. It’s black ink and the impeccable linework captures the curves and details of a large, sharp knife expertly. It looks very well done, to say the least - an exquisite first tattoo - and the way the ink is a little faded and just a tad bit blotchy shows that the piece must have been done a fairly long time ago. 

Tobin pulls her arm away to roll up the short sleeve of her right arm. From her muscular shoulder down her bicep and stopping at the beginning of her elbow, there’s a mural of different shapes, designs, and colors. “This is from my travels and the places I’ve been.” Tobin informs as she turns her body a bit for a better view. Christen leans in a little closer, really soaking up every line and feature of this half-sleeve that, until now, has only been an art piece she’s gotten to view in passing. There are some yellow and red Japanese style sunsets that flow into golden Buddha figures and African spears and patterns. Different tribal patterns wrap themselves around Tobin's lower bicep and a large image of a wave looks as though it's flowing through and around a carving fork like spaghetti. 

As Christen takes in as many details as her hazy brain will allow, Tobin continues to explain that every time she visits a new country and experiences a new culture of food, she adds to the collection of tattoos on her arm. So far it’s formed an impressive half-sleeve of styles and illustrations and cultures and Tobin makes it very clear that it's nowhere near finished. 

“There’s really nothing like learning about food in its place of origin.” Tobin says, eventually rolling down the little bit of sleeve that covers her shoulder. “You can take loads of classes in the states about how to make and prepare different types of food from these different countries, but it doesn’t even hold a candle to actually _being_ in those countries and absorbing the culture and the significance that comes with the cuisine.” 

Christen thinks she could listen to Tobin talk in that smooth, deep voice forever. It almost puts her right to sleep, but she’s able to keep her eyes open (if not to continue staring at Tobin’s body). 

_Ugh, her body…_ Christen thinks to herself.

“There’s some more little things all over. Some on my- what did you say? 'Muscle-y legs'?" Tobin teases with a wink and it effectively makes Christen blush.

 _Ugh, her body…_ Christen can't help but think to herself again.

But even in her intoxicated state, Christen knows she shouldn’t cross that line. Tobin’s her chef. Tobin’s here to cook so that Christen can focus on other more technical aspects of her game. And no matter the outcome of this season (a very successful outcome, Christen and her team hope), at the end of it all, Tobin will be relieved of her responsibilities as Christen’s personal chef and will move on to another big name professional athlete. This is a single season agreement and their time working together has already been extended a fair amount since LAFC has advanced through these knockout games and Christen has to remember these things or else that line of professionalism is no-doubt going to look fainter and fainter as their time together goes on.

So she _really_ needs to do something, anything to extract these thoughts from her brain that are telling her to bound across that line of professionalism. Luckily, she’s been able to slightly sober up in the bit of time that the two have been talking and it seems to be the perfect timing too when Tobin announces, “This is done, lemme just plate it up.”

Suddenly, Christen remembers the whole reason she’s down in the kitchen in the first place and the mere thought of food makes her stomach grumble and her mouth water. When a steaming bowl of mac and cheese slides in front of her, Christen almost wants to cry with the heavenly smells of gooey cheese wafting into her nose. She wants to ask how Tobin was able to 1. Make homemade mac and cheese since she knows there’s no boxed mac and cheese in the cupboard and 2. Somehow justify and integrate the undeniably fat-heavy meal into Christen’s diet. But before words are able to come out, her body switches to full cavewoman mode, reactively taking a hold of the fork and trying to get the crispy, gooey, masterpiece into her stomach as fast as possible. 

Tobin chuckles at the ravenous woman as she starts washing the pans and pots and supplies in the sink. 

With almost 2/3rds of the bowl gone in mere seconds, Christen is finally able to ask her initial questions (with a mouthful of food in her mouth). 

“Technically that’s not ‘mac’ and cheese.” Tobin reveals and the confused look on Christen’s face leads her to answer the second question. “Instead of macaroni, it’s cauliflower. We had some leftover and it’s a bit more nutritious, so… ”

Honestly, Christen is totally blindsided in hearing this news and with her next fork-full of melting, stringy cheese, she takes a much closer look at what she’s been shoveling into her mouth. She doesn’t know if it’s her still slightly intoxicated state or Tobin’s really good cooking or how viciously hungry she’d been, but the whole meal got her completely fooled. Nonetheless, she’d go as far as to say that this spin on typical mac and cheese is better than any boxed brand she could get at the store anyhow. 

As always, Christen offers a heartfelt “thank you” for her meal and, as always, Tobin simply nods with a selfless smile. Christen goes back to finishing her late-night dinner and Tobin goes back to cleaning up the kitchen. The second Christen finishes, Tobin’s right there to grab her bowl and fork and load it up in the dishwasher. Apparently, she has a personal chef and cleaner now. 

Christen should call it a night. She should get washed up and changed out of her “we made it to the semifinals” outfit she has on. She should let Tobin get home since this night has dragged on much longer than Tobin is technically supposed to clock in for. All of these thoughts do in fact come up in her much more coherent brain. But part of her wants to stay and watch Tobin doing whatever Tobin does in the kitchen and possibly talk to her some more because their time together has brought her so much joy. In the few hours she’s gotten to spend talking with Tobin, she’s never felt more free, like the perfect little walls of her life that have kept her so confined are finally broken down when the two women converse with one another. 

But when Christen’s eyes flick to the oven clock and it reads basically into the next day, she decides to let these desires go - at least for tonight. 

~~~

Christen practically scurries down her stairs in the morning, a stark contrast to her usual sluggish, pre-caffeine energy levels. But today's different. Today at 3:30 pm ET/12:30 pm PST, broadcasted on national television, is the NWSL semifinals, where it's not only hoped for, but _expected_ that Christen will help lead LAFC to the championship finals for the first time. 

To say she's anxious would be an understatement. But at the same time, she feels incredibly prepared. She knows this feeling of readiness is due, in part, to the extra amount of training she's been able to have. She knows that the hours spent perfecting her touch and talking tactics with her coach and her team have contributed to why she’s fully confident in advancing to the final. 

But she also knows that the only reason she’s had the time to perfect her skills on the pitch is because of Tobin's work off the pitch. Yeah, having someone come up with and cook all of her meals definitely doesn't hurt, but at the end of the day, Tobin’s role in her life goes beyond the magic she creates in the kitchen. Christen’s extremely grateful for the company and the reassuring knowledge that someone is always there for her, whether it’s a warm meal and a listening ear after a particularly frustrating training day or someone to chat with about silly, minuscule topics like tv shows. Christen never realized how much that companionship (especially Tobin’s) could light up her life. She’s never felt especially lonely in her life - hell, it feels almost suffocating at times how often she finds herself surrounded by teammates or staff or reporters. She loves her teammates like family and, while rare, she’s found temporary refuge with the occasional hook up here and there. But in the end, Christen can admit that it’s nice always having a welcoming presence in her house.

"Good morning!" Christen practically cheers as she comes into the kitchen - the delicious aromas of breakfast already filling the room and welcoming her in. On game days, especially afternoon games, Tobin prepares a very nutrient-dense breakfast to accompany the usual morning juice so that Christen has time to digest before the game and not feel too weighed down. These are usually Christen's favorite meals, not only because the food is always creatively tasty, but because these days offer completely un-rushed time with Tobin. There’s no training or events on her jam-packed agenda. Game days give her almost the entire day to do whatever she wants and it shouldn't come as a surprise that she winds up spending that time hanging out with her favorite chef. 

Christen heads straight to the juice that's waiting for her on the countertop and easily downs the entire thing without the usual wincing and flinching.

While stirring something at the stove-top, Tobin turns her head and watches the display with impressed (and surprised) eyes. "Good morning, indeed." she says as she walks over to grab the now empty glass and put it in the dishwasher. 

Christen sits down at the kitchen island while Tobin goes back to cooking. At this point, she obviously knows when breakfast is always ready, but did she come downstairs this morning knowing damn well that the meal wouldn't quite be ready yet? Maybe. Did she want to take the time to get a head start on hanging out with Tobin? Maybe…

She watches Tobin meticulously turning the contents of the saucepan over with a spatula before wondering aloud, "What's the apron for today?" 

Tobin finishes another flip before setting the tool aside and turning around. Usually, her aprons are different solid colors - a deep blue or light khaki color - that wraps around her fit, athletic body in the best way possible. She'll sometimes recount to Christen the brand of the apron and maybe how she acquired it. Yesterday's light gray apron was a gift to her from a friend and fellow chef in Georgia. 

Today though, Tobin's apron has an image of a soccer player's body on it, the head perfectly cut off to look like she's the one dressed in a full soccer kit. It gives Christen a good laugh and Tobin grins back - proud of accomplishing her goal when choosing the apron for today. 

"For your big game," Tobin simply states as she gestures down the front of the apron like she’s showing off (because she is showing off). “Are you nervous?” she asks before turning back around to click off the stove burner. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Christen says. “I’m nervous ‘cause I want the team to win. But I also have a really good feeling about it. This is what the team and the coaching staff have been working towards all season long and I really think we can do it.”

Christen doesn’t see it since Tobin is facing away from her to plate the freshly made breakfast, but a big smile grows on Tobin’s face at such passionately confident words. With breakfast ready, Tobin turns back around and slides it to the waiting recipient. “That’s great to hear. I think you guys have got the finals in the bag.” she says while putting a fork and knife next to the plate of food. 

“Thank you.” Christen says, ignoring the amazing-smelling meal for a moment in favor of looking into Tobin’s warm, honey eyes. “For breakfast and your words and cooking for me and for being really great through this season.”

"Of course." Tobin says along with her usual smile and nod. "It's been an absolute pleasure." She quickly busies herself with cleaning up around the kitchen and she hopes that Christen can’t see in her eyes how the unexpected compliment really hit her right in the heart.

Christen starts on the meal and it looks to be a normal omelet with some vegetables mixed into it (and a beautifully displayed fan of fruit on the side). She doesn’t think too much about it as she uses the side of the fork to cut through the egg, but what she finds is something firmer within the eggy surface. With curious eyes, Christen pushes the fork down to slice off a piece of this strange food contraption. She pushes the bite to the side to get a better view of the omelet's cross-section and sees two distinct layers - an egg and vegetable exterior as well as a more solid interior of some sort. 

She looks back up just as Tobin drapes a dish towel over her shoulder. “What is this?” Christen asks, trying not to sound accusatory like she hates it, but more that she’s just curious as to what this could be. 

“Well I thought with the exciting game today, I’d try something new and make an exciting meal.” Tobin begins to explain. “So that right there is a baked potato wrapped up in an omelet.”

With wondrous eyes, Christen looks back down at the plate and does in fact see that, enveloped inside of the omelet, there looks to be a peeled, baked potato. 

Tobin continues, “It was kinda fun to make actually. I just baked a regular potato with cheese and herbs and then made a regular omelet with mushrooms and bell pepper and spinach. And then with some engineering, I kinda wrapped the omelet around the potato. It’s kinda like a beef wellington but, like, the breakfast version.” 

Christen, who’s still amazed that this is something that's currently sitting on her plate, says, “Wow. You are just full of surprises today! With the apron and breakfast version of a beef… whatever you just said…”

“Beef Wellington.” Tobin corrects with a laugh. “And if it doesn’t end up tasting good, you can just tell me and I’ll make your usual fav. I just thought instead of having eggs with a side of potatoes, it'd be interesting to have the potato inside the eggs.”

“No, no.” Christen quickly assures her. She swiftly spears the bite she cut off with her fork and puts it in her mouth. It’s different, that’s for sure, but it’s still insanely delicious and, obviously, amazingly prepared. “It’s really good, Tobin. You're a food genius.”

Tobin smiles at the validation, glad that her weirdly thought up meal invention isn’t a complete bust. Christen continues to finish up her omelet-covered potato as well as the fruit while Tobin finishes cleaning up and starts to write a few things down in her little pocket notebook. 

Maybe it’s because her stomach is now satisfyingly full or maybe it’s her high-energy nerves pulsing through her body, but Christen feels a tad adventurous and decides to ask, “Hey, so if you’re free, would you maybe want to come to the game today?” Tobin has never physically come to watch any of the games, though she ensures Christen that she watches through her phone or on her tv. It’s not that Tobin doesn’t want to, it’s simply that she’s always busy with meal prepping or coming up with new food innovations (like this morning's), and being at her clients’ games isn’t a specific requirement with her job. 

Tobin sticks her pen behind her ear and looks up at Christen’s hopeful gaze. She was planning on heading to the grocery store to pick up some experimental ingredients to test out at her apartment (while simultaneously streaming Christen’s game on the tv). But she finds that the longer she looks into Christen’s optimistic, green eyes, the more her brain comes up with all the reasons why she should ditch her original plans.

After a pondering moment or two, Tobin finally answers, “Umm… sure. If ya want.”

Christen feels like she could shoot through the ceiling with excitement. Tobin’s presence at the game might add a bit more anxiety to the pressure already surrounding this game, but maybe that’s just what she needs to play as well as she possibly can. 

“I want.” Christen says giddily with a blinding smile, having to bite down on her bottom lip to contain herself. “I’ll put your name on the ticket list so you can sit in the box.”

“Oh, no that’s okay. I can really pay for my own-”

“Tobin.” Christen cuts off any polite reasoning that could possibly be said. “I invited you to the game and you’re taking your own personal time off for it, so at least let me handle your ticket. I can just add you to the list and they’ll let you in. It's not a big deal.” _I don't think..._

After a few months of being under the same roof for half of the day, Tobin has not only learned Christen’s food tendencies, like how she likes a light layer of dressing on salads but an extra amount of sriracha with tacos, but also her defining personality traits, like how stubborn and headstrong she is. So Tobin knows she’s already lost this battle.

“Thank you very much.” she relents with a kind smile. “I’m excited to watch you play and totally dominate the game.”

And in response, Christen does the go-to Tobin response of a little nod and a warm smile. 

~~~

By halftime, the teams are tied, exhausted, and ferociously persistent. LAFC is considered a major underdog in this game, having settled on the lower end of the standings for most of the season, only to _just_ make it into the quarterfinals. They’re the newest team to join the league so while people hold high hopes for their success, they knew from the beginning that it’d be an uphill battle with having to go up against more experienced and established teams. 

Christen, being one of the few veterans on the team, fully understands this frequently brought up fact and it only motivates her to help get her team to the top. At the huddle, she authoritatively talks game plan - about getting wider to spread out the other team’s backline and get some more opportunities in the box and locking down the communication on defense and keeping solid touches on the ball. By the end of her fast-paced strategy speech, Christen’s too tired and strained to really talk anymore so she hands it off to Sydney to hype everyone up. She’s been not-so-intentionally avoiding it during warmups and the entire first half, but with her teammates all yelling and the energy among the group increasing, Christen takes a moment to look up at the group of seats reserved for friends and family. 

And Tobin’s there, with a big smile and excited eyes and it may be the only other time besides when they first met that Christen’s seen the woman without an apron on. Here, she’s wearing a basic white tee and black skinny jeans with a brand new LAFC snapback on top of her head. (She had apologized over text about not owning any team merch beforehand, but Christen assured her it wasn't an issue, then called in a favor to have an LAFC snapback waiting for Tobin when she arrived at the stadium.)

Christen's heart flutters at seeing Tobin wearing the black and gold hat but she doesn't get to dwell on it for too long because fifteen minutes have passed and it's time to get her head back into a no-doubt grueling last half. 

Drawing close to the ninetieth minute, the game remains at a frustrating 1-1 scoreline, but luckily for the team and the fans, Christen remains as ruthless as she'd been in the first minute of the match. Everyone (rooting for an LAFC win) counts her seemingly boundless amount of energy as a blessing considering how many chances they've had on their attacking end.

And as if their prayers are finally being answered, a sloppy pass by the other team's equally tired midfield leads to Christen sprinting down the side of the field with the ball at her feet and only one outcome on her mind. With a cheeky switchback that leaves one of her defenders down against the pitch and a left foot like a cannon, Christen sends a perfectly bending ball over the backline that _just_ grazes the fingertips of an unlucky goalie. 

Cheers erupt around the stadium as Christen throws her hands up in celebration. Her teammates are right there to engulf her in hugs and at the moment, even with a couple of minutes of stoppage time added, everyone knows that LAFC is advancing to the finals. 

In the craziness of it all, before the players get back into position, Christen takes a second to sneak a glance up at the box. There, an animated pair of hazel eyes and a blinding, white smile await her and Christen gives a little wave that Tobin immediately and enthusiastically returns with additional thumbs up and fist-pumping. The sight makes Christen’s smile grow impossibly wider and she doesn’t think she’s ever felt happier about a win than right now. 

~~~

“Where’s your hottie that was watching from the box?” 

Christen resists the urge to roll her eyes because _of course_ Mallory would be trying to probe into her possible love life. While Mal would technically be considered a veteran on the team, she seems to frequently be the bridge between the rookies and the older players like Christen and Syd.

Most of the team decided to go out tonight as they usually do after significant victories. As usual, they covertly sneak in a glass or two of contraband alcohol but tonight, Christen sticks with some sparkling water in hopes of not repeating the embarrassing events of the night after the quarterfinals (in case Tobin happens to be at the house when she gets back). The majority of the team has already turned in for the night and Christen was just about to head out as well, but...

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Christen fibs, fidgeting with the strap on her purse as she waits for the bartender to come back with change for her drinks. _I ordered two sparkling waters, what is taking so long…_

Sydney scoffs, not hesitating to join in on Mal’s line of questioning. “That’s bullshit, Pressi.” she easily calls out with a mischievous smirk. “We all saw the cute brunette in the visitor's box. She practically jumped down from the balcony every time you touched the ball.” A beat passes as the few teammates still out wait eagerly for Christen’s response. And as if it’s her mission to fill any and all moments of silence, Syd adds, “You should’ve invited her to drinks tonight.”

Christen weighs her options. She knows that she has to give something - a little shred of information - or else no one on the team is going to let this go. But what does she say? Does she keep it professional and refer to Tobin as her personal chef because she is, in fact, her personal chef? The team knows that Christen has a chef cooking her meals and they never really questioned it because it’s just another aspect of being a professional athlete (and because they all loved the granola energy bites that Tobin made when Christen let the team try them at practice). But that doesn’t explain why Tobin was watching from the box tonight. Does she say that they’re friends because they are, in fact, friends? But then she can kiss her chances of getting home goodbye for the line of questioning that's sure to follow afterward. 

“She’s my personal chef and I invited her to the game as a thank you for cooking all of my food for me.” It’s not a total lie, which is why Christen decided on the simple, hopefully believable explanation. Tobin _is_ her personal chef and she _did_ kinda invite her to the game as a thank you for her services. Christen just so happens to leave out the part about how she wanted to see Tobin’s comforting face from the pitch and how part of her wanted to somehow impress Tobin with the one skill she’s been told is pretty impressive and how simply knowing Tobin was watching helped boost her confidence during the game.

“And why didn’t you bring her out with us?” Mal repeats the second comment that Christen was really hoping everyone would’ve forgotten about. 

In reality, Christen had invited Tobin out. She accounts this to her post-win high, but after meeting fans and signing posters for the massive amount of LAFC supporters that came to the game, she had found Tobin and confidently asked if she would like to join in on the celebration at the team’s favorite bar. Unfortunately, Christen wasn’t too surprised when Tobin had politely declined the offer, citing that she still had to order some specific ingredients online and get ready for tomorrow's meals. Christen took the rejection in stride, trying her very hardest to not seem as disappointed as she truly felt inside. In the end, it had only reminded Christen that Tobin is in her life for one purpose: to elevate her career and help Christen’s ultimate goal of being the best - the most _perfect_ \- soccer player in the world. 

“She’s busy doing her job as a chef. She was already skipping out on meal prep because she came to the game in the first place.” Christen explains and before anyone could say another word, she was out of the bar with her change and a quick “see you girls at practice!” thrown over her shoulder. 

The second after pushing open the door to the bar - letting the crisp night air hit her face and flow through her sense - Christen let out a breath she didn’t realize was being held tightly in her lungs. Tobin clouds her entire brain - the woman’s smile, her happy-go-lucky attitude, her kind words and kind eyes - and Christen physically shakes her head, as if doing so will rid her of these intangible thoughts. 

Before another second passes - before another thought about Tobin can make its way into her head - Christen hastily walks in the direction of her car, hoping (for possibly the first time) that Tobin isn’t at the house to see her so overcome with these familiar thoughts and unfamiliar emotions. 

~~~

“ _So?_ ”

Christen rolled her eyes before saying a response. She can already tell through the phone that Daniel’s got a smug look on his face and part of her wants to lie and say that his personal chef arrangement has sucked. 

But it really hasn’t. 

In fact, it’s been a perfect dream.

So Christen takes a moment and pushes down her ego. “It’s been good.” she settles on. Not a lie but not a description that would really do it justice. No need to give him that satisfaction. 

The moment Daniel had told her that he went behind her back to organize an arrangement with a nutrition company and hire a personal chef for her even though she had made it explicitly clear that she didn't want that, she almost wanted the whole deal to go up in flames. Call her petty, but considering that the majority of her life (and more specifically her spending) typically catered towards extravagances that she didn't especially need or want, Christen was fully prepared to have to fire a chef after a week.

The thought of firing Tobin, though, is one she'd never even consider at this point. In all honesty, she wanted that “I told you so moment”, but that’s simply not how things played out.

“I’ve gotten to focus a lot more on my soccer skills now, so yeah. It's been good.” 

“ _Well you’ve kept her cookin for basically the entire season, so I’d assume as much._ ”

There’s a moment of pause, one with Christen not really knowing what else to say and one where Daniel is probably glad his idea didn’t leave him unemployed. 

“ _If you want, I think we could talk to her management and extend her contract with you._ ” Daniel comments. “ _I’m not sure how it’d work with your national team camps and stuff, but we could probably make something work for at least your club’s off-season and pre-season training.”_

This is actually an idea that’s crept into Christen’s mind more than a couple of times over the past few months. She’s never really gone through with calling Daniel whenever she thinks of it, but it’s definitely been something that’s always lurking in the back of her mind. 

“Does she not already have another client after my season ends?” Christen asks, deciding that now's a better time than any to get some more knowledge on the chances of keeping Tobin in her life for a while longer. 

“ _I honestly don’t know but I could probably find out if that’s something you’d want to pursue. Or it might be faster and easier to ask her directly since you’ll be seeing each other sooner. You’ve been having such a phenomenal season that it’s perfectly justifiable._ ”

Christen takes a second to think about it. Bottom line is that she wants Tobin in her life, but is that really the best reason behind keeping a personal chef around? Especially, as Daniel had suggested, in the off-season where having a personal chef isn’t as valuable an asset?

“Yeah, I gotta go to practice but I’ll ask her about it when I get back.”

“ _Alright, you just let me know and we’ll get everything set up._ ” 

“Sounds good. Bye, Dan.”

“ _Bye, Chris._ ”

~~~

Christen doesn’t get to ask Tobin anything because she’s too busy saying sorry a million times, but she can’t seem to stop her mouth from spewing these hasty, but nonetheless genuine apologies. 

“Chris, it’s really okay.” Tobin assures her for about the millionth time. “I’ll pick up some extra stuff today and it’ll be fine. I really don’t mind.”

Finishing off lunch with a big glass of water, Christen stands up to put her glass in the dishwasher. (She’s been trying to do more in the kitchen - help Tobin out in the little ways she can, even if it's just putting her own dishes away). 

“Okay. Well, again, I’m really sorry I just sprung this on you. I...I mean it was sprung on me too and I really tried to make a restaurant reservation, but it's so last minute…”

Tobin listens patiently as she hears the rerun of this explanation. It had been a surprise of course when she was informed by a very panicked Christen the second she got back from training that the Press family had all suddenly decided they wanted to have dinner together the night before the championship game. The entire dinner plan had been made while Christen’s phone was shut off during practice and by the time she was able to read through the text conversation of her family’s arrangements on her way back to the house, it was too late to say anything (or to make a reservation at any nice restaurant in town). 

When Christen finally finishes her long-winded replay on the entire ordeal, Tobin does what she's done the last couple of times that she's heard this explanation: smile and give as much assurance as she can.

"Would it maybe help if I go shopping with you? That way you don't have to try and remember everything or constantly look at your list and it'll be a faster trip." Christen offers.

Tobin's got grocery shopping locked down. She’s been doing this job for a few years now and she gives the word "efficiency" a whole new meaning when there's a shopping cart in her grip. But Christen in front of her, all excited and still distressed, and Tobin can't think of any reason to say no.

~~~

"Wow. This is truly spectacular." Cody Press says after his first bite of lobster. 

Tobin had decided, much to Christen's resistance, that she was going to go total professional chef mode for this dinner - taking it back to her La Fureur days while preparing this dinner. She could tell that, even though they crafted a full spread of different foods for dinner, Christen was still more than a little stressed. So Tobin decided to go full out for the Press family. It had definitely been a while since Tobin had cooked such extravagant, gourmet-style food, especially for more than one person, but luckily her previous restaurant experience must be permanently ingrained into her brain and Tobin didn't hesitate to whip up a five-star meal for everyone.

Christen wished she could've watched Tobin during this strenuous cooking period, the scene probably looking very similar to an abstract painter on crack, but she was on her own journey of tidying up her house to extreme perfection. She never has a lot of people over despite how large her house is, so the place isn't ever cluttered or anything. But Christen couldn't stop herself from nervously re-fluffing her pillows and making sure there's enough cutlery for all of her family members. 

She wants to impress her family, which she constantly reminds herself is stupid because, _c'mon_ , they're family. But she doesn't get to see them as much as she'd like to with her busy, non-stop schedule of obligation that she only finds out about when they appear on her calendar. The sad fact is that her family probably sees her more on TV - playing on the pitch and talking during interviews - than in person at this point. So Christen wants to take advantage of their rare moments together as a family and really make her house as inviting as possible. If that means rearranging the order of her books and dusting the blinds of her many windows, then so be it.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Press.” Tobin responds with a kind smile. She was a little caught off guard when Christen had assumed that of course Tobin would be joining them during this dinner and she was more caught off guard when the rest of the Press household assumed that she’d be eating with them as well. But regardless, after preparing a gorgeous spread of restaurant quality lobster thermidor alongside some corn on the cob, cheese biscuits, and a large salad, (she had recommended that Christen steer clear of the cheese biscuits considering she has a very important game tomorrow), Tobin sat down with the rest of Christen’s family to chow down. Initially, she felt a bit out of place considering she’s never made and eaten dinner with a client’s entire nuclear family before, but the joyous, welcoming atmosphere created by everyone put her apprehensions at ease. 

Cody takes another bite, his fork stacked with as much food as possible. “Cody.” he corrects with a light chuckle after chewing and swallowing. “When you make me such a high-quality dinner like this, you’re allowed to call me Cody.”

“Chrissy’s a lucky girl if she gets such high-quality meals like this every single day. When her season’s over, we might just have to try and get you to come over to the house.” Stacy Press jokes with a smile and the group laughs. 

“Well, I’m really the lucky one.” Tobin says, sneaking a quick glance at the admiring pair of green eyes across the table from her. “I just get to do what I love, but Christen is a joy to cook for and to be around.”

Christen feels her heart pound against her chest at these words as she quickly looks down at the food on her plate in an attempt to hide the blush creeping onto her face. 

The sentimental moment is quickly broken though when Tyler quips, “Not when she’s hangry!” and everyone laughs again as Christen lightly swats her sister’s shoulder in mock offense.

The dinner ends up being as lively and equally rowdy as ever. Even though she’s the odd one out of the Press dinner, by the end of it, Tobin almost feels like she’s part of the family herself. They all joked and talked and laughed together as if these dinners are a nightly occurrence. When they all put their dishes, they continued their conversations over a few more glasses of wine (or sparkling water in Christen’s case) before eventually shuffling out of the house because Christen wanted to aim for a solid eight hours of sleep before the big game tomorrow. 

But instead of heading to bed, Christen stays in the kitchen and helps Tobin clean up the rest of the dinnerware and pack up the leftover food. The energy of the house has settled since the rest of the Press family left and it envelopes the two into a soft, comfortable kind of silence as they fluidly move beside each other with smiley glances and relaxed demeanors. 

Once most of the dishes are cleaned and the house is back to perfection, Christen uses the last fleeting minutes of the night to sit at the kitchen island and talk with Tobin about how cooking dinner went and the nervousness surrounding tomorrow's game (Tobin is once again coming to this monumental match with the promise of sporting her favorite LAFC snapback).

“So what pro athlete is going to reap the benefits of your superb cooking skills next? Anyone I know?” Christen tries to ask nonchalantly, not because she necessarily wants to bring attention to the fact that their time together is dwindling down, but actually the opposite in that if any of her fellow teammates have hired Tobin, then she’ll know there’s a chance that they’ll get to see each other again. And an even better scenario would be that Tobin hasn't been hired yet and Christen can talk to Daniel about extending their contract together. 

Tobin does one last sweep of the countertop with a dish towel before throwing it over her shoulder and facing Christen. “I’m actually planning on taking a break from the company.” The look of intrigue (and shock) on Christen’s face propels Tobin to clarify her words. 

“One of my best friends from France, Lindsey, who took a lot of the same culinary classes I did said she was coming back to the states. And we were talking with one of our mutual chef friends, the one from Georgia that I mentioned gave me that apron, remember?” Christen nods but remains quiet while listening to Tobin as she continues. “Yeah, her name’s Emily Sonnett and she’s kinda wild and always coming up with crazy ideas and I think she said something about how it’s always been a bucket list dream of hers to start a food truck.” Christen stays silent, but her eyes perk up a bit now that she’s starting to see where all of this is going. “I mean, you probably know this, but some of the best food in the whole world is served out of food trucks.” 

Tobin is unable to suppress the wide smile that’s forming on her face as she gets to the meat and potatoes of her whole explanation. “Anyway, we all decided that we’re gonna try and start a food truck together and take advantage of the fact that we’d be working on wheels to also travel around and check out the different food scenes around the country.” 

“Wow!” Christen says and she then remembers the words Tobin had said the first time they met about constantly expanding her horizons. She knows that this mindset of drifting from different cooking settings is what got Tobin from a fancy, L.A. restaurant to the health and nutrition scene in the first place. 

“Yeah! I told the company about this and they’re sad that I’m leaving, but they seem pretty stoked about it too. They even said that I’ll always have a job with them if I leave the food truck thing, which is super nice of them.” 

Tobin’s smile is so big at this point that Christen can’t help but mirror such a toothy grin. “What type of food would you guys be making?”

“That’s still a to-be-determined decision. We’ve all worked in such different cooking environments that it's hard to choose. Like Lindsey’s got this idea of a sort of mobile but authentic french cuisine type thing, but Sonnett wants to do good ol' southern soul food.” Tobin says before checking her watch and leaning back from the countertop and Christen knows what she’s about to say but she really doesn’t want Tobin to leave (especially now that she knows they won’t be seeing each other after the season when Tobin’s traveling around on her cross-country food adventure). 

But the dreaded words come out of Tobin’s mouth and Christen really does need to get as much rest as she can before the championship final tomorrow. So Tobin leaves with a smile and the promise of a delicious breakfast the next morning and Christen is once again left in her house with too many thoughts rolling around in her head for her to really get a full eight hours of sleep anyhow. 

~~~

She really couldn’t pinpoint one specific reason for it. 

It could’ve been the extra training, the high-quality foods she’s been eating, the palpable vigor of the entire team, the excellent coaching, the energy of the fans, or the skillfully executed tactics the team implemented. It could’ve been any combination thereof. 

Whatever it was, Christen couldn’t be bothered with anything else as fizzy jets of champagne erupt from around the locker room. 

Because they did it. They won. LAFC is officially NWSL champions after a brutal ninety minutes of game time. In the end, it didn’t matter that they were frustratingly down a goal for most of the first half. It didn’t matter that Mal’s initial equalizing goal wasn’t counted due to a very debatable off-sides call (because her second equalizer very much counted, that's for sure). It didn’t matter that Syd got a yellow card and that the refs were blind to how many fouls the other team aggressively made. None of it mattered, because LAFC walked away as NWSL champions and Christen couldn't think of a more perfect ending to the season (because winning really makes everything better). 

And honestly, Christen feels like she can’t stop winning when after the game, Tobin graciously accepts the invitation to continue the celebration from the locker room to the club. 

On the way over, Christen is suddenly pulled from the haze of high-spirited celebration when she realizes that the second she meets Tobin at the nightclub, it’ll be the first time that the two hang out away from a purely professional environment. Even though they’ve talked about non-work related subjects, their conversations have always taken place in the kitchen - in the environment of Tobin’s job. All of their casual kitchen talks could easily be accredited to simply getting to know one another while co-inhabiting the same space - purely service provider and client (though neither of them would ever actually think of it like that). 

Before Christen knows it, her body pulls the car off into an empty space on the street and her mind catches up to the fact that she's arrived at the collectively decided upon nightclub. She’s nervous now - all of her carefree energy dissipating the moment this realization hit her. 

_But is Tobin really still my personal chef if the season technically ended the second those ninety minutes were up?_

Christen doesn’t get too much time to ponder over this when there’s a sudden banging noise against her car window and her startled eyes see Mal and a group of her LAFC teammates with excited expressions gesturing for her to join them. By the looks of it, at least half of them are already shit-faced and Christen knows that it’ll probably be a chaotic night of celebrating.

Pushing down her nervousness in favor of fully embracing the new NWSL champion mindset, Christen climbs out of her car and scurries over to the sidewalk where her teammates are waiting for her. 

“You ready to get fucking CRAZY!” Mal yells as she loops her arm with Christen’s and starts jumping up and down.

“Yeah and it looks like you’re definitely ready,” Christen laughs and after a few quick (and very jumpy) steps, the two reach the entrance of the club. 

Even while standing outside, Christen can hear the strong bass of some sort of hip-hop or EDM coming from inside. Mal unabashedly starts marching in, but with their arms still locked together, Christen pulls her back. A confused look grows on Mal’s face when she looks back and Christen yells over the music, “Tobin’s coming and I wanna make sure she makes it to the right place so I’m gonna wait out here!”

“Didn’t you text her the name?! Just let her know we made it!” Mal yells back, pulling at Christen’s arm a bit to get her to come inside with the group of girls that are already crossing the threshold.

“She typically doesn’t carry her phone on her!” Christen replies as she unloops her arm with Mal’s. “Go ahead and I’ll meet you in there!”

Mal walks backward a bit and with a smirk and says, “Okay! There’s gonna be a marg with your name on it, Pressi!” before she disappears into the dark crowd of parties. 

Christen just laughs a bit, knowing that Mal’s not joking and there will be some sort of alcoholic beverage waiting for her when she meets back up with her teammates. For now though, Christen waits in the chilly air outside the club’s entrance as she waits for Tobin to arrive. Back at the stadium, she had hastily told the woman the name of the club when Tobin informed her that she didn't have her phone on her, though she had assured Christen that she didn't need a ride and would just meet her out front. So now Christen just hopes that Tobin found a way to get to the right club somehow.

Just as she considers going to her car real quick to grab a sweater since she's freezing in her colorful, sleeveless pantsuit, a pair of familiar hazel eyes connect with hers. Tobin approaches quickly with her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her blue skinny jeans and that slightly uncomfortably chilly look on her face in her short-sleeved white t-shirt that perfectly displays the tattoos of her arms. Before reaching Christen, she takes off her LAFC snapback to run a hand through her hair before placing it securely back on her head and stopping just a few inches from where Christen is standing.

 _I can smell her coconut shampoo_ Christen thinks to herself and luckily the smell lingers with how close the two are now standing together. She can practically feel the warmth radiating from Tobin’s skin, but the goosebumps on the woman’s slender forearms show that she’s definitely feeling the effects of a chilly Los Angeles night as well.

“Hey, Chris.” Tobin breaths out with a smile and a visible puff of frosty air. She shuffles to the side a bit, closing the already small amount of space between the two of them so that her shirt sleeve barely brushes against Christen’s bare shoulder. She’s obviously just as cold as Christen is, wanting to bundle up like a penguin, but Christen can’t complain since she can still smell that delightful coconut shampoo and can feel inside of her chest the intoxicating closeness of Tobin’s lean frame. 

“Hi,” Christen replies almost timidly because she really doesn’t know how to act around Tobin now that they’re in such a different environment with different objectives and different purposes. 

Tobin opens her arms a little for a hug (something they’ve never done before), and it takes a second for Christen to realize what’s being hinted at, but when she finally does, she leans in for a slightly awkward hug. Tobin’s body against her own is a stark contrast to the frigid night air and soon enough they both seem to melt into the embrace. Christen never wants to leave the comfort of Tobin’s arms around her, almost imagining that she’s surrounded by the warmth of her bed, but then she feels Tobin start to slowly pull away and Christen reluctantly lets go. When they’re back face to face, they can’t help but look at each other with big, goofy grins. 

“Ready to go in?” Christen asks, gesturing with a pointed thumb towards the pounding music and moving bodies and strobe lights from inside the club.

Tobin nods as she looks inside, then back at Christen. “Ready to celebrate!” she cheers with a wink and Christen thinks her heart might just stop with how many fuzzy emotions are bubbling inside of her. With the awkwardness and anxiousness she felt leading up to this night now replaced by excitement and energy, she confidently loops her arm in Tobin’s, just as Mal had done with her, before leading them into the chaos of the club.

She’s glad that she has a physical hold on Tobin’s arm. Not because she can feel every lean, skillful muscle on Tobin’s arm flex under her grasp (though that’s definitely a viable reason too), but because she really wouldn’t want to lose Tobin as the two push their way past the crowds of drunk, oblivious dancers. 

After a good amount of squeezing past people and a very gross amount of sweat rubbed off onto her arms from squeezing past those people, Christen finally spots the brown, curly bun on Mal’s head and beelines with Tobin’s arm still attached to her. 

At the bar, Mal sees who’s rushing towards her and squeals with a smile as if she hadn’t seen Christen ten minutes ago. With the music blaring louder now that they’re actually inside, Christen leans close to Mal’s ear and still yells, “Thank God you haven’t gone out to dance yet! I never would’ve been able to find you then!”

Mal just nods with her same excited smile and even under the mostly dark lights of the bar that are periodically hit by a stream of colorful light, Christen can tell that her teammate is already at least a few shots in. Suddenly, Mal remembers something with wide eyes and turns around before facing Christen again with the previously promised margarita in hand. Even though it looks half empty (probably a result of Mal’s impatience), Christen lets go of Tobin’s arm and accepts the drink with a loud “Thanks!”

Tobin shifts a bit closer to the bar as some people shuffle behind her, careful not to bump into Christen while she takes a sip of her drink, and Mal is able to catch a real good look at her with huge, excited eyes. She shamelessly looks Tobin up and down with her mouth agape before eventually making eye contact. Since Tobin doesn’t really know who this person is besides assuming that it’s one of Christen’s teammates and then sort of recognizing her as number two on the pitch, she simply offers the younger woman a shy smile. 

With no regard for Christen’s dignity, Mal turns to her and yells very indiscreetly, “Oh my god! She’s way hotter up close than when I saw her in the box!”

Christen chokes on her drink and stiffens up with embarrassment. She tries to convey wordless with dagger eyes for Mal to not say another word as she feels a rush of heat on her skin that has nothing to do with the stuffiness of the club and everything to do with her self-esteem plummeting to the ground. She glances at Tobin with a pleading level of hope that even though they’re all sort of smushed together in this busy club, that maybe - _just maybe_ \- Tobin hadn’t heard her no-filter teammate over the loud noises surrounding them. But by the way Tobin’s looking at the two women with surprised eyes and possibly the tiniest hint of a smirk pulling on her lips, Christen knows that she's definitely heard Mal's word. 

Luckily, Tobin seems to let it go in favor of leaning into the bar to try and get the bartender’s attention. 

_This is gonna be a long night…_ Christen thinks to herself, easily downing the remaining contents of her glass and ready to order more. 

~~~

Christen is sitting on a large sofa with some of her teammates, taking in the high levels of stimulation that are attacking every one of her senses. She did end up ordering another drink and Mal got her to take a shot of something that effectively burned down her throat, but other than that, she’s taking it pretty easy. She feels warm and fuzzy inside and much more relaxed than before. 

But maybe that’s because she’s leaning into Tobin’s sturdy shoulder. And maybe it’s a result of the dopey smiles the two share whenever Christen periodically shifts her head to look at Tobin’s sharp cheekbones and the adorable little lines at the corner of her eyes that crinkle every time she smiles. 

Tobin seems to be pretty unaffected and unfazed by everything around them and Christen remembers that she’s only seen the woman order maybe a couple of vodka sodas the whole time that they've been here.

“Chris! Come dance with us!” someone yells and Christen sluggishly looks up to see a _very_ drunk Sydney Leroux hurrying over with sweat dripping from her forehead as clear evidence that she’s just come off the dance floor. 

Before Christen can respond, two hands are yanking her up to her feet and dragging her to the eye of the storm - the epicenter of sweat, bass, and dancing. She’s not really a dancer, not like Crystal or anything, but she knows how to swing her hips and jump to the beat and have a good time with her friends. And with some fast tempo song blasting in her ears, Christen lets all her cares go as she swings her hips and jumps to the beat and has a good time with her friends.

By perhaps the third or fourth song change, Christen is still deliriously dancing and laughing with cheeks that ache from smiling so much. The amount of sweat dripping off of her body rivals the amount from the full ninety minute game hours ago and Christen starts to turn around to find Tobin and take a cool-down break when a recognizable figure finds her instead. Tobin’s dancing alongside her and now Christen doesn’t think she really needs a cool-down break with how much energy is suddenly jolted within her. She moves closer (as much as she really can with all the people around her) to Tobin and the equal amount of sweat on the other woman’s brow suggests that she’s been out dancing for as long as an unaware Christen Press has. Only, Christen has just now noticed her and Christen is now moving a lot closer to her - even closer than when they were standing outside together, and even though Christen’s not really a dancer, she’s still able to move to the rhythm of the music while also moving in tandem to Tobin’s movements. 

And then the beat picks up and builds and everyone around them seems to feel the growing energy - this anticipation - that the song creates.

And Christen can feel this growing energy along with everyone else but the anticipation is a result of watching her body moving almost sensually along with Tobin's.

And the second before the song’s expected drop happens, Christen looks up from the minimal amount of space between them and sees those warm, honey eyes and those rosy cheeks and the droplets of sweat on her smooth skin and the glowing smile of enjoyment on Tobin’s face.

And the second the bass drops and hits Christen square in the chest, she closes her eyes and leans in and closes the inch of space between them and connects her lips to the unsuspecting lips of the woman in front of her. 

And she’s not thinking and she’s already slightly out of breath from dancing and thoughts of regret start zig-zagging throughout her head. Christen knows that Tobin knows that she’s not drunk enough to blame the kiss on the amount of alcohol flowing through her veins - the time spent on the dance floor effectively resorting Christen to a mild buzz. Christen knows that her action is way too deliberate to use the “oops, someone bumped into me” excuse. And Christen knows that she doesn’t want to remove her lips from where they’re currently stationed against Tobin’s, but as these fears and excuses and thoughts rush into her head, Christen begins to pull back with an unbelievable amount of embarrassment. 

But unexpectedly, she feels a hand - one that can masterfully flip the contents of a saucepan into the air without dropping a single ingredient - slowly snake around her waist. Then she feels another hand - a hand that can dice vegetables in a blink of an eye - travel upwards to tenderly cup her face. Christen finds that she can’t pull back with any embarrassment because Tobin’s got a secure grasp on her without any signs of letting go. 

The kiss only lasts a few seconds but it feels like hours of slow-moving lips and a synchronized flow of open mouths and languid movements. When they finally pull back and look at one another, it feels like they’re not surrounded by dozens of other sweat-covered dancers and deafening music. It’s just the two of them. And before Christen can stutter out an apology or an explanation, Tobin’s wordlessly grabbing her hand and leading her past the sweat-covered dancers and deafening music and bringing the two of them back outside into the crisp Los Angeles air.

All Christen can do once they make it outside is lean her exhausted body against the brick wall of the club as she begins to really feel the aching of her feet and the limpness of her arms. Tobin though, stays standing in front of her and the silence surrounding the two feels as deafening as the music in the club. After a few minutes of simply looking at each other, wondering who's going to break first and what's about to be said now that there's no excuse _not_ to address what just happened, Christen's the first to speak into the cold air between them.

"I-I'm sorry." is all she can squeak out.

A confused look of furrowed eyebrows and squinted eyes makes its way on Tobin's face and it has Christen reactively trying to keep filling the silence with anything her brain can come up with.

"I don't know, I wasn't thinking and it just happened and honestly even though I've been wanting it to happen for a while, I…" Christen lets out a sharp breath and she has to break eye contact with Tobin if there's any chance of making a clear, coherent sentence to express her thoughts. With everything that's happened over the season and the events of this night in particular, Christen decides to just lay all her cards out onto the table. So she looks back up at those soft, caring eyes and confidently says, "Tobin, I like you. I've liked you for a very long time." And because she can't for the life of her figure out what could be going on in Tobin's head from her unchanged expression, Christen continues speaking. "And I never knew what to do before because you were my personal chef. You technically worked for me. But then you agreed to come out with us tonight and the season's over so I didn't know if the contract still applied and then Mal said that thing and then we were dancing which isn't exactly professional and then I kissed you and you kissed me back which definitely isn't professional and now I'm rambling because you aren't saying anything so please say something." Christen takes a deep breath, staring hopelessly at Tobin's frozen figure. 

Tobin doesn't immediately grant her wish, but instead silently reaches into the back pocket of her jeans to reveal her trusty leather notebook. Christen doesn't know whether to laugh or cry when she sees Tobin open the notebook and flip through some of the pages without a single word.

_Is she gonna take a quick note on how pathetic and stupid I am or something…_

Then she sees Tobin stop at a page before looking back up into Christen's pleading eyes and taking a couple of steps towards where her body is propped almost lifelessly against the building. With her thumb in the middle of the open pages, she turns the small notebook around for Christen to take and read. 

With a confused look, Christen hesitantly takes hold of where the book is now open with timid hands, as if the entire notebook would disintegrate if she puts too much pressure on its leather binding.

Reading over the scribbles, Christen's able to depict a list of some sort in distinguishable, Tobin-like handwriting. 

  * **Pick up chickpeas (chickpea pasta?)**


  * **Give Ms. Stevens her waffle iron back**


  * **C liked those oyster mushrooms**


  * **Call Linds back**


  * **Get more acv, running out**


  * **How can I incorporate more chocolate?**


  * **Get more aprons cause it makes her smile**


  * **Buy a new whetstone**


  * **She's so pretty**


  * **Can I ask her out when the contract ends?**



The date at the top corner of this page tells Christen that this was written months ago, in the middle of her season.

It reads like a stream of consciousness, like the words on this paper came directly from her brain and was then scribbled onto the paper without a second thought. Christen had always assumed that this notebook housed Tobin's cooking endeavors - filled with ingredients and recipes and shopping lists. But now she sees that it acts more like a journal - a distinct blueprint of Tobin's thoughts written directly as they have been thought up.

When she looks back up from the notebook, Tobin is mere inches from her face - the same absence of space as when they were dancing together inside the club.

"Yes." Christen breaths out as an answer to the question that both of them know is at the bottom of the list on the revealed page. 

And without a moment of hesitation, Tobin crashes her lips into Christen's for a slow, passionate, fantastic, heavenly, magical kiss that they both lean into. They don't pay attention to the odd looks from people passing or the night air that could give them frostbite because there's only each other in this moment. And Christen can't help the fuzzy feeling in her stomach and the tingling on her skin and the pounding of her heart as her lips move in synchronized, hypnotic movements just as their bodies were doing inside the club. 

And if this feeling of Tobin's soft lips that all but send a wave of fluttering warmth over her entire body isn’t considered perfection, Christen doesn’t know what is. 

**Author's Note:**

> this oneshot is motivated by 1) the new knife i got (a high carbon steel nakiri!!), 2) my desire for more fics where c plays soccer, and 3) my disappointment with how our society so toxically views food and health


End file.
